


to whom can a god appeal for mercy

by amberfox17



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Loki Feels, M/M, Spoilers, Thor Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-17
Updated: 2013-11-17
Packaged: 2018-01-01 21:35:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1048823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amberfox17/pseuds/amberfox17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-The Dark World story, dealing with the ending. Obviously major spoilers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	to whom can a god appeal for mercy

It is a relief, actually, when all of Loki’s plans and schemes come crashing down around him, his control over his erstwhile allies splintering and his enemies gathering in force; it provides, at last, a reason for him to flee the burden of the throne, so dull and unsatisfying with neither his father or brother to admire nor resent, and, more importantly, it means he _has_ to run to Thor, has to appear before him haggard and trembling and gasping, “Brother, help me -”

Thor reacts as Loki knows he will: shock and delight and a desperate need to touch, to envelop Loki in a warm embrace – the first since he lay in Thor’s arms on the dusty plain of Svartalfheim, he thinks, and that had been the first since Thor grasped him on the tower’s top in Midgard, and _that_ the first time since Thor wrestled with him on the Bifrost – and Loki is free to relax into it, as he has not been before, for it serves both his present plans and the quiet, oft ignored voice in his head that wants nothing more than to stay within Thor’s reach.

Thor weeps, overcome by the miracle of his brother returned from the land of the dead, and it is glorious to let himself be that brother, to be faithful and true, all trust restored between them, as they fight together to protect Asgard and restore peace to the Realms. Loki enjoys it more than he means to, forgetting from time to time that all is not as it seems, too caught up in the joy of teasing his big brother, trading smiles and old jokes, the world narrowed down to just the two of them together.

Of course, it does not last. Once the heat and turmoil of the battle is over, Thor discovers Loki’s treachery: his death, a ploy; the incapacitation of the Allfather, at Loki’s hands; the danger just passed, a result of Loki’s selfish scheming. Lies upon lies, and for no worthy purpose, in Thor’s terms; Loki has done worse, has dealt out far more death, but callously and wilfully tricking his brother into mourning him is the most vicious and personal crime he has yet committed against Thor, and Loki anticipates a grand and terrible battle between them, far outstripping their conflicts so far.

But in the event, Loki finds the beating he receives rather mild, considering what he has put Thor though. Thor’s anger and pain are enough to shake the sky, and yet his rage passes swiftly, and Loki is left licking his wounds, rather confused, as Thor leaves him, broken, yes, but still free. He slinks away, to one of his many bolt-holes, and gives himself time to heal, all the while waiting for _something_ : for Odin to be restored and send Thor after him; for Heimdall to begin searching for his hiding place; for news of Thor’s coronation – any kind of reaction to what he has set in motion.

Nothing happens. The worlds continue to turn as his bones knit and his flesh heals, and he remains alone, unlooked for and ignored. He listens, in all his secret ways, but there is no word of Asgard or Thor. It is baffling, and in the end, he has no choice but to go looking for Thor himself.

He starts in Midgard, thinking that perhaps Thor has returned to his little mortal pets, but he is not there. He spends a week perfecting an illusion that will stand up to even the strongest scrutiny and quietly slips into Asgard in disguise, but while the rebuilding is almost complete, his brother is nowhere to be seen. Loki does not linger to see who holds the throne in his absence, but quickly moves on, wandering through the realms, more confused than ever. He has always found his brother predictable, and yet now…now he must search, and search blindly and he likes it not at all.

He searches and searches and searches, chasing rumours and half-forgotten memories of the places they used to go; he has lost all track of time by the time he actually finds Thor in a distant field in a forgotten corner of the realms. He is loath to admit it, but he is greatly relieved to have finally found him – it is not that he feared dead, for he cannot imagine his brother ever hurting himself, nor ever being defeated; no, it is that with all his time and energy bent solely on finding Thor, Loki has grudgingly come to accept his own keen need to have his brother in his life, for good or ill. His life is dull and empty alone; now that he has found Thor again, he feels that at last he will start living again.

Yet Thor is merely standing and staring at the clear sky, apparently calm, and this worries Loki immensely. Surely there should be a storm – surely his brother’s strength of feeling should be tearing the heavens apart? Thor lowers his gaze as Loki’s approach, but no dark clouds gather. He merely watches Loki come closer and closer, with no more interest than he might spare for a twirling leaf. It sparks a twisting fear in Loki – had Thor meant it when he said he was finished with Loki? Loki had taken it for more bluster, just another threat in the heat of their conflict, but Thor’s indifference to his presence is new and entirely unwanted.

“Thor,” Loki calls as he closes with him, and his sorrowful tone is, at this moment, genuine. “Brother, I -”

“My brother is dead,” Thor interrupts without ire, and the lack of emotion in his voice terrifies Loki more than any of Thor’s roaring furies ever have. “I have mourned him twice. I will not do so again.”

“I can explain,” Loki pleads, startled into honesty, and he hates it, hates Thor for reducing him to this, but the sick-sour fear roiling in his belly outweighs the bitterness burning in his breast. “Listen to me -”

“I do not care,” Thor says flatly, dully, and Loki has never seen him so empty, so lacking in fire. “Do as you will, Loki. You are no concern of mine.”

No, Loki thinks, clinging to the embers of his old fury as terror rises up like a wave, as he gropes blindly for a weapon, for words to make Thor bleed and gasp and show him something, anything like passion. They are everything to each other, in love or hate, and always have been – for all his fury, he has never doubted that he and Thor are linked and he cannot accept Thor’s rejection of this truth.

“Can you so easily cast me off, brother?” he sneers, but it is a pale imitation of his usual scorn, and even he can hear the fragile note of truth. “Will you loose me on the worlds you love so dearly? Give me free reign to move against your precious mortals?”

“If you come against me or those I love, I will kill you,” Thor says, the words heavy and slow, with neither regret nor bluster. “But beyond that? Go where you like, do what you please. I know now that I have no hand in your choices, for good or ill. You have broken the ties between us. You are free. And so am I.”

“No,” Loki says, the word squeezed out with the breath from his lungs. This is not how the story goes; this is not his part to play. Thor is his anchor, the weight that holds him to his past, his anger and hope and pain as constant and familiar as the thump and wrench of their heartbeats and just as necessary. Loki spirals; Thor stands steady: this is the core of his universe, the truth on which he builds his webs of lies. Without it, he is dust and ash and air, scattered on the wind, small and petty and nothing.

“No,” he says again, louder, angry and hurting and rearing up like a snake, to strike and strike, damn you, Odinson, how dare you –

But Thor has already turned his back. Thor is walking away.

Loki should be delighted. This is the best possible outcome for him: Thor letting him go, Thor all but promising not to interfere with his plots unless they directly involve him; it is a more than generous offer for Asgard’s most infamous criminal, and one that Odin would never, ever sanction. He should take this opportunity and flee, for now, go to ground and take the time to regroup, to acquire new allies and plan again to –

To what? To once again take the throne of Asgard? He has had his fill of proving that he could rule successfully, if only given the chance; having had it to himself for so long he can say in utter truthfulness that he has no real desire to rule Asgard alone, nor to see in ruins with those he hated brought low. He has had that victory once already and it had proved less satisfying than he had hoped. Why waste his energy in trying to repeat such an unsuccessful experiment?

What else could he want? The only purpose in attacking Midgard was to attract the attention of Odin and Thor and certainly none of the other realms are interesting enough to warrant conquest. He could make a play of it, he supposes, in order to try and rouse Thor against him again…but to what end? This scene again and again and again?

Is this the parting of their ways, then? Is he to build a life alone, unanchored, drifting though eternity without purpose, without hope? What kind of life would that be for him? To surrender to the truth that he has no place anywhere or with anyone, that he is no more than a shadow in Thor’s life, easily dispelled in favour of brighter lights and truer loves?

What is Loki without Thor?

It is the question he has refused to answer these long, lonely months on the throne of Asgard, desperately unhappy and unwilling to turn to the truth he has always known. He knows what he wants, what he has always wanted, and yet he has ignored it, fought it and rejected it, only for it to be taken away from him, the choice taken out of his hands as Thor walks away without a backward glance.

There is no Loki without Thor.

Loki screams, high and raw, and hurls himself after Thor, clawing at his billowing cape until his hands close on metal and leather, clinging frantically to the impassive figure of his brother.

“You cannot leave me!” he screams, near-hysterical. “I need you, Thor, I want to be with you, always – brother, do not forsake me!”

“Enough of your theatrics,” Thor says, unmoved by Loki’s sobbing, pulling his hands away firmly but not violently. “Whatever you think to gain by this, you will have to try another way. I am tired of your games.”

“I want _you_ ,” Loki sobs; “You have to believe me!” It is hard to get the words out and he feels a brief flicker of hatred at being so reduced, but it is nothing to the desperate need he has to find a way to convince Thor of his sincerity. What can he say – what can he do –

“No, Loki,” Thor says and Loki’s mind gibbers; this cannot be happening, not again, not like this. It is the moment before his fall come again and it feels like he never stopped falling, that everything he has done and been since that moment has been one long, heart-stopping descent that has brought him here, that has led to him to this moment where he is the one crying and begging and clinging desperately to a man who only wants to let go.

“Thor,” he says, or at least he tries to; what actually comes out of his mouth is a contorted, broken sound of regret and fear utterly unbefitting the so-called Silvertongue. He cannot think, he cannot speak, and that leaves him only one path: to act.

Loki seizes Thor by the hair and drags him into a kiss.

It is madness; madness and folly and utter ruin, but he has no more plans, no more lies, and so only the ugly, hidden truth remains to him. He is Loki, not of Asgard, not of Jotunheim, of nowhere and no-one, and if he is to lose his brother forever then he will allow himself this one moment, where he lets loose the love he has for Thor, a love that outstripped the bonds of fraternal affection eons ago.

Thor is frozen and unresponsive, surely as horrified as any good man would be by Loki’s degeneracy, but what does this matter if he is to lose him in but a moment? Loki only kisses harder, and presses more firmly against him, soaking up the warmth of his body, revelling in the surprising softness of his lips, the rough scratch of his beard. Thor is everything he ever wanted and the one prize he never even tried to win.

Loki kisses him until stars flare behind his closed eyes and he must pull away to breathe. Even as he does so, he thinks that perhaps that would be the better end, the best of all ways to die, choking on the breath he cannot share with Thor.

But that is not his nature and so he opens his eyes to see Thor staring at him in utter shock. Loki stares back and says nothing. He has nothing left to give and there is nothing more he can take.

“What trick is this?” Thor asks at last, voice rough and shaking. “Why – what do you want?”

“You,” Loki says helplessly, the bitter truth a stone in his mouth. He has made his play; he has cast his die. It is done.

Thor stares intently at him a while longer, face contorted in thought, and Loki assumes he is turning this new-found knowledge over his mind, that it is even now tainting whatever pleasant memories were left to Thor, making a mockery of their long time together.

Loki watches Thor carefully, waiting to see if Thor will turn on him in violence – he will not blame him if he does – or if Thor will simply flee, remove himself from Loki’s presence as fast as he can, in order to put Loki’s unnatural lusts as far from his mind as possible. Loki has, for once, not done this to hurt Thor; it was an impulse, an instinct, and despite everything, it is one he will not let himself regret.

Thor laughs.

It is a genuine laugh, full of warmth and joy, and Loki is too surprised to react to it. He remains so as Thor steps forward and scoops him up, holding him close as he kisses him, far more thoroughly than Loki had managed, although that is helped by the fact that Loki recovers fast enough to respond, to throw himself into Thor’s embrace where he can taste the salt of his tears in Thor’s mouth.

“And you are supposed to be the clever one,” Thor says when they break apart, panting for air, his hand warm on Loki’s neck as he presses their foreheads together.

“I’m a fool,” Loki says, “Thor, I’m so -”

“Don’t,” Thor growls and oh, there is the hunger and the passion and the promise of the storm; “Don’t you dare say you’re sorry. Not again.”

“I won’t,” Loki says, giddy with relief, “I’m not. This was my plan all along, you oaf. You’ve played right into my hands.”

“Liar,” Thor says, deep and fond, and Loki nods wordlessly, flexing in Thor’s grip to make the point that it is he who is in Thor’s hands, that it is his heart which is cradled in the safety of Thor’s palms. They kiss again, slower, deeper, and though it can only convey so much, it helps to ease all that lies unsaid between them, as each breath passes from one set of lungs to the other, as their skin tingles as at every tiny point of contact.

“I love you,” Loki says at last, needing to unburden something; it is a small truth, and perhaps the only one he can bear to part with, to breathe into the world without needing to twist it or take it back.

“I never doubted,” Thor says quietly, the lie obvious, and Loki returns Thor’s sad smile as he brushes Thor’s hair from his face.

Thor brings his hands to Loki’s face, one thumb stroking over his cheek, brushing away the tears that continue to trickle down Loki’s face, and Loki returns the gesture, wiping away the damp stains on Thor’s cheeks. Perhaps, in time, words will help to heal the fractured edges and jagged wounds between them, but for now, they must trust more in deeds, and he leans in willingly, seeking out the kiss he once requested, more innocently, so long ago, and this time Thor comes forward to meet him.

It is a start.

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my attempt to cope with my TDW feelings. Title is from Blood Brothers, as is the general headspace of what Loki would be like, and what he would want, after finally getting to be ruler of Asgard. Much angst, but this is intended to be a hopeful ending. Given them a few centuries of talking it all out and they'll be fine and fucking like bunnies, honestly.


End file.
